


It Was Always Me and You

by MeganWrites



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, One Shot, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21556960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeganWrites/pseuds/MeganWrites
Summary: Mickey groans, pulling his knees up and rubbing his hand over his face harshly, “The fuck are you getting at, Gallagher?”Ian’s voice is shaky, “That you’re my best friend, and that maybe I’m yours.”[reposting of an old work]
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 23
Kudos: 181





	It Was Always Me and You

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, this is an old fic being reposted. It's been edited a bit and here you go... enjoy.
> 
> Warning: Mickey says a gay slur - no worse than anything he says in the show, especially during that time, but there it is.
> 
> Title is from 'Mess is Mine by Vance Joy'. Idea for this fic came from a fan theory on tumblr that Mickey and Ian had their first kiss before the van kiss and sometime in season 2.

Ian has never liked Karen. Maybe a bit when Lip first started chasing her around, but that didn’t last long. He was done with Karen long before she fucked Frank, but for whatever reason, Lip kept circling back to her. There’s so much drama going on between Karen and Lip at this point that Ian’s pretty sure an afternoon soap opera could be made of it – and he’s just really fucking done hearing about it from Lip.

Ian could go the next fucking century without hearing about Karen and it still wouldn’t be long enough. It won’t happen though. Lip has a fucking incessant need to claw his way into Karen’s life, even when he’s clearly not wanted. It’s getting creepy and obsessive, and the whole thing just pisses Ian off. He’s made that as clear as possible to Lip and by proxy, Karen.

This is why Ian is a little surprised he bothered going to Karen’s wedding reception.

He’s mostly surprised because he doesn’t remember making the decision – just getting ready and going. Maybe it’s because the whole family went, or the free booze and food. He honestly has no clue why, but he regrets it within the first thirty minutes. A southside party never goes without a hitch but shit really hit the fan with this one. Chaos burst in the door in the form of Steve and his new wife, followed by a drunken Lip, a stoned Sheila, and Grammy Gallagher putting bullets in the ceiling.

Ian slips out of the house as soon as the cops disperse.

Ian thinks about going home for about ten seconds before texting Mickey to hang out – or, at least, he pretends to consider going home. He feels kind of pathetic that going home wasn’t even a consideration, that going anywhere other than wherever Mickey is didn’t even pop into his mind. He tries not to think about how much of a lovesick idiot he is and instead makes his way to the baseball field as quickly as possible.

Ten minutes later he’s circling the fence and is greeted by the sight of Mickey sprawled out on the grass next to a ratty backpack, eyes closed and smoking a joint with an open beer held loosely beside him.

Ian grins and barely restrains himself from sprinting over – he ends up with a fast jog, it’s the best he can do. Ian drops to the ground next to Mickey the moment he reaches him, grabbing the beer out of Mickey’s hand and chugging the remaining quarter of the warm drink. Mickey opens one eye to peek at Ian and smirks before settling back and closing his eyes again.

“Going to a fucking’ ball, Cinderella? Turnin’ into a pumpkin at midnight?”

Ian laughs and leans back, propping himself up on his elbows and smiling down at Mickey. “That’s not really how the story works.”

“Like I give a shit.”

Ian shrugs, even though Mickey’s eyes are still closed, and Ian knows the gesture is lost on him. “Was at Karen’s reception, had to dress up – gotta look presentable for those things.”

Mickey snorts dismissively, “And how the fuck was that?”

“Grammy tried to shoot Sheila.”

Mickey’s looking over at Ian again, eyebrows raised to his hairline. That seems to have piqued his interest. “This the one who makes Meth?” Mickey asks.

Ian smiles shyly and plays with the grass by his hands. It surprises him every time Mickey remembers details about his life, for a guy that won’t even let Ian acknowledge him as something more than a co-worker, it’s kind of remarkable. He sometimes wonders how much Mickey remembers, if it’s just general things he’s mentioned or if it’s all the little details. He hopes it’s the latter, even though he knows that it’s probably not, after all, Ian remembers every detail Mickey’s ever told him.

“Yeah, Frank’s mom.”

“Shit.” Mickey mutters, “That’s hardcore, man. How the fuck did Frank come out of her?”

Ian laughs loudly and swipes the joint from Mickey, “There’s always one shitty kid.”

Mickey scoffs and sits up, grabbing another beer from his backpack and cracking it open. “Oh yeah, and which is the shitty kid out of your fuckin’ brood?”

“Lip,” Ian answers easily.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s just ‘cause you’re pissed at him,” Mickey waves a hand and purses his lips, “Give it a fuckin’ week and jackass will be your best friend again.”

Ian looks down and starts picking at the grass again. “What makes you think he’s my best friend?”

Mickey snatches the joint back from Ian, takes a long drag, and says, “Because you spend every fucking’ day hanging out, gossip like fuckin’ girls, and you talk about the shit you do together every fuckin’ day.”

Ian nods and chews on the inside of his cheek. Mickey might be right about that, and maybe once they make up (because deep down, Ian knows that they will) Ian will see it that way, but right now he doesn’t. He feels closer to someone else.

“So, who’s your best friend?” Ian asks.

“Don’t have one.”

Ian’s pretty drunk at this point and the weed is starting to take effect, mellowing him out. He knows Mickey feels the same, his eyelids are a little droopy and he’s loose – not wound up tightly and ready to attack at any second. Ian loves when they get fucked up together; Ian is a little braver and Mickey is more malleable.

“I could be your best friend.”

Mickey narrows his eyes at Ian and scowls, “Not happening. Besides, you’ve already got one.”

“Except I don’t hang out with Lip all the time anymore – we don’t talk anymore and the only time I talk about him is to complain about all of his stupid shit,” Ian says quietly, trying to keep his gaze fixed on the grass and away from Mickey, but he can’t help glancing over at him every few seconds. “But I do that with you.”

Mickey groans, pulling his knees up and rubbing his hand over his face harshly, “The fuck are you getting at, Gallagher?”

Ian’s voice is shaky, “That you’re my best friend, and that maybe I’m yours.”

Mickey breathes out deeply and clenches his jaw. “Would you stop being such a fag right now?”

Normally this would be a sign that Ian’s taken it too far, pushed Mickey past what he’s comfortable with, except Mickey’s eyes are still downcast as if his words are just for show and not actually how he feels. Learning to speak _‘Mickey’_ is a long and complicated process, but Ian is starting to understand – maybe someday he’ll be fluent.

Ian rolls his eyes and leans back on his elbows again, “So, wanting to be your friend makes more of a fag than sticking my dick in your ass?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey grumbles but there is a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Ian laughs and breathes in deeply, inhaling the stale, hot air of a Chicago summer. “You know, friends hang out all the time without anyone wondering why.”

“No one wonders why now,” Mickey says, spitting on the ground and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Because people only see us together at work.”

“Yeah, and it’s going pretty fuckin’ well that way,” Mickey snaps back.

Ian frowns, his voice soft, unable to hide the vulnerability, “Is being my friend really that bad?”

Mickey looks at Ian for a brief moment, his expression is indiscernible. When he turns away from Ian, he grabs another joint from a baggy in his backpack. Ian’s sure that Mickey had assumed they would be fucking at this point, or maybe just finished fucking and basking in the afterglow. Watching Mickey grab a second joint is a clear sign of irritation that Ian is not letting the conversation die.

But Ian just _can’t_.

He really wishes that Mickey could understand what he’s trying to say – he wishes that Mickey could speak _‘Ian’_. He isn’t trying to make Mickey upset or push his boundaries. Ian just really fucking cares about Mickey. He thinks about Mickey so often that it’s borderline obsessive (Lip and Karen levels – _which is an annoying realization to have_ ). Every time Ian thinks of sneaking into a movie or baseball game, the only person he wants with him is Mickey – the only person he ever wants with him, for anything, is Mickey. Ian feels like he’s going fucking crazy but he can’t help it. Somewhere along the line, he went from wishing Mickey would just fuck off and leave Kash alone to never wanting him to leave Ian’s side. When he thinks about it, Ian is surprised it ever happened, but that’s just how he feels now.

He cares about Mickey Milkovich more than he cares about most people and maybe he just wants a little assurance that Mickey might care about him too. Ian’s not in lone with Mickey, he knows that, but he thinks maybe he’s on his way. His feelings for Mickey are definitely deeper than they’ve ever been for anyone else. If Mickey doesn’t care about Ian, even just the smallest amount, Ian is sure it will break his heart.

Mickey holds out his hand and lets Ian take the blunt from between his fingers. Ian takes a hit and holds in the fumes, closing his eyes and letting his body go loose again, bracing himself for whatever Mickey might finally say.

“If you want to call me your best friend, do whatever the fuck you want,” Mickey says gruffly.

Ian sits up straight and opens his eyes wide – he was not expecting that. Maybe it is not quite the declaration that Ian had wished for, but it also wasn’t rejection. It was somewhere in the middle, somewhere vague but with hints that Mickey might care if Ian feels okay or not.

Because Mickey might care about Ian – _no,_ Mickey does care about Ian.

Ian reacts before he can think not to, leaning forward and swooping in to capture Mickey’s lips with his own. Maybe he’s too drunk and high, or maybe the elation is affecting his judgment, but he kisses Mickey for the first time and it feels like that only thing he’s ever been meant to do. Mickey’s lips are soft and warm, Ian’s entire body lights up and he feels like he’s floating.

The kiss only lasts a second before Mickey is shoving him off and wiping at his mouth – but it’s enough time that Ian thinks maybe Mickey considered letting it continue. Not that it matters, because now Mickey is pissed.

Fuck it, Ian doesn’t regret it for a second.

“The fuck did I say about that shit, Gallagher?” Mickey hisses, the way he’s glaring and how his nostrils are flaring makes Ian wonder if cutting his tongue out is a threat that Mickey is willing to go through with. Ian starts mentally preparing himself for an argument about how tongues improve blowjobs – that might spare him.

Mickey quickly scans the baseball field, checking for witnesses before he leans back in close to Ian. “Never again, got that?”

Ian nods quickly, working hard to suppress a loopy smile – he’s not very successful but this has been a very good day for Ian.

“Good,” Mickey grunts and settles back into his spot, “Now quit fuckin’ yakin’ about stupid shit and fuck me.”

Ian grins and lunges at Mickey once more. He doesn’t kiss Mickey again, despite how badly he wants to, but he thinks that maybe another kiss isn’t too far in their future.

Maybe there is actually a real future with Mickey.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr @ [meganwwrites](http://meganwwrites.tumblr.com)


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